


Shadow Ascendant Black Ops: Nagrand

by Triskaideka



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Battle for Azeroth Patch 8.1.5, Canon Typical Violence, Fantastic Racism, Gen, LLF Comment Project, Safe Haven (cinematic), Secret Surprise Character, Zealotry, established Thrall/Aggra (background), sometimes you just want a badass lady to wipe the floor with another one, warning: implied threats made to fictional children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23901478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triskaideka/pseuds/Triskaideka
Summary: To the less discerning eye, it would appear Sylvanas had sent too few assassins.(Coda to Safe Haven cinematic.)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	Shadow Ascendant Black Ops: Nagrand

**Author's Note:**

> Context if you're coming in fandom blind (hi Moose!): [YouTube cinematic link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=umAgdVTBae0).
> 
> * * *
> 
> Written for the one-year posting anniversary of the above cinematic. And maybe because I still got beef with Orc-Moses over stealing my kill in [WoD](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3AlnE16-2NI).

The journey to the Draenor of the past had been fraught with peril, but the final leg of the mission had finally come and she allowed herself a small amount of self-congratulatory excitement. Let her serve as an extension of the Dark Lady’s will today, dispensing long-awaited judgment upon those who had scorned the queen's wisdom previously.

Fortunately, it had taken little more than the usual level of dissembling with the guardians to the portals between worlds to accomplish. A mere whiff of talk about necromantic leanings around the living and next came the freaking out and the investigatory panels and the Dark Lady disavowing her actions; no, she had minded her tongue and bided her time for the sake of allowing a certain restless spirit its well-deserved revenge. All she needed to do was point it at the right targets.

Stepping between worlds with conscientious speed left her a touch dizzy, accompanied by a sensation in her chest reminiscent of a heart beating out of rhythm. Something to do with the axial tilts and globes spinning through the Great Dark Beyond at different speeds or whatever; listening to the pre-departure warnings had made her want to fall asleep. More importantly, she checked on the precious cargo once again, a nervous tic she’d started exhibiting back at the Timeline B portal between Draenor and Azeroth Prime. Yanking a spirit away from the mystical pull of Oshu’gun had taken all of her skill, which latter the Dark Lady fortunately had taken notice of prior to selecting an agent for this mission.

She blinked in the oddly diffused ambient light that gave the Outland its characteristic look in the absence of a spherical world’s atmosphere, and waited out the dizzy spell’s passing. The line going back to Azeroth stretched beyond her expectation, the majority Mag’har orcs queuing up to go adventuring in a less shattered world, she supposed. Their numbers added to the Horde’s might; their lives to be expended for the Dark Lady’s pleasure like any naturalized citizen.

Taking off for Nagrand immediately would only draw attention that she didn’t need, so she dawdled in the Lower City and bought a charm against the spirits recognizing her or her intentions off a troll there. Strongest shaman on Azeroth or no, she didn’t need extra complications slowing her down once she infiltrated the little hidden homestead and unleashed the spirit’s vengeance upon the targets, parent and offspring both.

And was it her imagination or did the pouch that kept the spirit with her seem to buzz angrily now that she had arrived so close to its point of origin? She rubbed at the pouch and muttered, “It won’t be long now. Patience, and you shall have your revenge.”

The acknowledgment seemed to satisfy it. Somewhat. Its vibration was significantly reduced after that, or she just quit noticing because she had to deal with chartering a flight to Garadar. Maybe in the spirit’s place, she’d be vibrating with suppressed homicidality to come home too.

Ahead of her in the line a few spots waited a pair of her fellow Forsaken, silent and somewhat out of place among the throngs of the living and quasi-living: did Ethereals and naaru really count among the former? And unlike the living with their boisterous reunions, when her spiritual kindred noticed her they also refrained from more than making eye contact. Such things weren’t done in the Dark Lady’s service. She filed away the details of their dress and mannerisms in any event, the mounting evidence pointing to the conclusion that they were also candidates for Shadow Ascendancy, and noticeably further along in their trials than she. Perhaps she was to be their backup. Perhaps somewhere behind her prowled yet another candidate should she fail. Slippery details like that kept the Dark Lady’s machinations in unfailing motion.

A commotion just after the pair flew out drew eyes and slowed up the line considerably while Shattrath peacekeepers did their thing. She wasn’t fingered or pulled out of line, so she didn’t worry about it. All that mattered was setting out from Garadar with her mental crosshairs locked in on the homestead.

*

Modern Nagrand, with its floating hunks of rock and waterfalls tumbling off them in midair confusingly resembled Timeline B Nagrand; enough so that she observed in herself a strange déjà vu crossing its shattered expanse. Like an echo of a faint whisper…

Worse luck, there were no windriders for rental at Garadar, nor would the flight master hear of selling the one she had ridden out on even for a princely sum of gold. Traversing the Mag’har homeland took less time than an onlooker or bounty hunter on her tail might have assumed in light of the tribulations she’d overcome. None of this running on foot across the plains and hoping to arrive in time business like a tauren; no, the gifts earned by a Shadow Ascendant via training enhanced the banalities of physical locomotion by mixing in pure, focused intention to cover ground as fast as thought. And the more practiced she became with the trick, the greater the ground she could cover. Draenor’s wobbling satellites soon bathed her in moonglow, which was vastly preferable to sunlight even when she had yet to develop the full Ascendant’s “allergy” to it.

She slipped along near roads, but not too near, past the basins that fed into Halaa and between the spaces where draenei patrolled outside Telaar. Right under their noses seemed a bit much for coincidence; the condemned must be trading with them and offering them protection from raging elementals. Just like a traitor to forgive the many trespasses of the Horde’s enemies.

When Oshu’gun reared up its scarred head at her in the distance not long after sunrise, some buried part of her recognized it and called it home. Ridiculous sentiment. But the vibrating pouch on her belt evidently felt the same, even though the metaphysical pull of the mountain had ages ago been safely reduced—at least at this end of time. Dangerous, that monument, like a dormant volcano. She most emphatically didn’t want the last remnants of her soul pulled out of her.

“We’re almost there,” she informed the spirit in triumph. Fortunately, the way she had bound it meant she didn’t have to listen to its complaining, or worse—the Dark Lady forbid—its life story retold in self-aggrandizing fashion. It would not do to let it know that was the case, however.

The whole area stank of life commingled with fusty spirits. Ancestor worship paired with shamanism apparently strengthened the ties between corporeal and less than corporeal existence. Beneath that, she scented growing things; then the sight of a field of wheat just like what had once blotted out the farms around Lordaeron before its fall gave her pause. One or both of the fools playing at tilling this long-dead soil, or their trading partners to the east, must have carried wheat seeds here from Azeroth, for such grains didn’t originate on Draenor. Like gleaning seed heads from stalks, she could gather much intelligence for her mission in a short time.

Signs of a scuffle showed outside the crudely built homestead: the packed dirt of the unpaved road bore divots that a sensible landowner would immediately fill in, and some sections of the grasses at the roadside had sap-like liquid oozing from recent breaks. Had her fellow Ascendants come and gone so quickly with their target’s head for a trophy?

No—under the dust here that had only just begun to settle lay the scent of long-dried blood and sluggish ichor like that which slunk through her veins. A beheaded orc would have meant the scent of fresh, life-filled blood. And bloodstains, but those could lie anywhere; inside the crude huts, out in a field. 

Her joints aching abruptly, like the precursor to a storm front moving in, was the only hint of impending danger she sensed before a gust of air buffeted her sideways. The wheat made its usual susurrus in the wind’s passing, slapping against her in prelude before the ground took its own swipe at her. Training took over and she threw herself to her feet, scanning the farmstead for her attacker. 

Dwarfing the vegetation, onward came a densely muscled female orc, similar in coloration and size to a rabid bear. “More assassins?” she said in that strangely archaic strain of Orcish common to the Mag’har.

Anything she might retort would bring repercussions upon her queen, and outside of stories told to children such one liners always failed to bring about the desired effect. Instead she called upon her talents to make the shadows hide her from the noonday sun. The orcess stared at where she had stood in consternation before questing about with that porcine nose.

As the Ascendant passed around behind the target, she could hear her grunted plea: “Spirit of Air, heed my call!”

With so much topsoil to work with, the dust devil that formed did exactly what the orcess wanted it to: blinding grains in the eyes, and the concealing shadows defeated. Time for new tactics.

The target spun, her eyes narrowing in concentration as much as triumph when she spotted the disturbance in the air. She didn’t even have a weapon to hand but still managed a respectable buildup of kinetic energy when she swung a significantly chunky fist in a short arc, catching the assassin in the stomach. With no need for air in her leathery lungs, the effect was mostly psychological: she still grunted in pain thanks to the nerve endings that hadn’t faded away.

On the plus side, the contact enabled her to put into play her best offensive move: draining life essence through the shadows that clung to the target as they did every living thing. How would the target react to this onslaught?

As it turned out, the target gave a primal, wordless cry and did her level best to grab her assailant. As well try to grasp the light of the moons. She poured on the suction and her own triumph made her cocky enough to whisper, “Just think, your children are next.”

She must have misjudged the orcess’ remaining life force, for the latter bucked her away and let out a furious roar. The earth itself rose up against her, miring her lower extremities in volcano-shaped cones of dry earth temporarily granted the consistency of mud. Corporeal form only restricted her movement, so she gave up on it.

“What, not going to call on your precious ancestors to subdue me?” she rasped from behind the target.

“I don’t need their assistance to end you,” the orcess growled back. She fished about uselessly in the air for the Ascendant.

Bold words for one of the race that had willingly drunk demon blood. 

But then the orcess grabbed her incorporeal arm and slammed her to the ground again. Following that, she put a knee across the Ascendant’s chest and said, “But should the ancestors choose to assist me, I won’t say no to them.”

She tried to leave corporeality behind again and couldn’t, pasting a snarl on her face while her limbs thrashed in vain. This constituted cheating!

“You should tell your ancestors you’re sorry when you see them,” advised the orcess right before she pulled a carven wooden totem from behind her back and drove it home.

*

Aggra hurriedly searched the body when the malicious light at last faded from its eyes. She had promised to catch up to Go’el by nightfall and the children weren’t even awake yet. A straightforward assassination attempt it might prove, or equally likely, someone sought to feed their suspicions. She hurriedly called upon the Spirit of Earth to bury the body once she had searched the corpse's accoutrements.

The tiny sachets of poison she buried on the footpath where they might not affect the wheat crop so strongly. Finding the knives too slim for her hands, she tucked them away as possible trophies for the children. And last of all, a small, unremarkable pouch that smelled of brute-force foreign magic and set off her senses of the spirit world.

Plots within plots. Could the undead one have meant to offer up her body to house the spirit? It smacked of a failed attempt to propitiate an ancestor by dabblers in over their heads.

“Tell me your name, spirit,” she commanded it. Once she had ascertained its provenance and disposition, she could see about releasing it from its captivity—or destroying it.

The wind rustled as the spirit spoke.

Not a name she had expected to hear. No awed descendants would build a memorial to the fallen one; no burial rites were offered. Even naming this spirit out loud could lend it power to do evil once more. How in the name of the ancestors had this would-be assassin pulled it from its rest?

Aggra hadn’t planned to cast out an angry spirit when she woke up this morning, though that was a kinder fate than standing aside to let the vengeful ancestors tear it apart. Neither had she and her mate expected to fight off multiple attempted assassinations this day, for that matter. Already the undead woman’s body had begun to putrefy, a side effect of the type of necromancy that kept many such violations of natural laws from expiring where they stood. Her comrades had begun to bloat and stink almost immediately as well.

So much for the spare time she’d hoped to enjoy before Azerothian politics invaded her personal life once more. Should she tell Go’el about the woman? It might cause him undue worry; he seemed to think her as delicate as the human woman he’d once loved, long ago, even when faced with the repeated incontrovertible evidence that she could fend for herself.

The children might benefit from a lesson in the application of spiritual theory she and Go’el had been teaching them. Useful moments didn’t just happen out of nowhere.

As if in answer to her thoughts, the captive spirit made its presence known with a buzzing like that of a biting fly.

No, she would not let the children near this. The mere thought of it taking possession of one of them made her sick at heart.

She kept the pouch in hand but unopened. “I invoke you, spirit. I bind you to this time and place, where there are no people, no animals for you to harm. I name you a criminal. Let your ancestors’ eyes be turned away! Let your name crumble to dust! Let the memory of your face be forgotten! But let the truth of your crimes stand against the ravages of time, that the children of the people will take heed of your example and take courage in choosing another path!”

It seemed that her words echoed in the faraway canyons and off the face of distant Oshu’gun. With no time to prepare or purify herself nor even any supplies to hand, she had to hope her will was enough to sustain the banishment. At some point in the unsung and forgotten time before their oral histories, her people must have performed similar rites with no outside assistance.

The pale form of a man of the Mag’har, tattooed with a clan chief’s markings, stood in front of her. His eyes glowered fit to give a less self-assured woman pause, but this spirit had no power over her. Aggra could tell he fought every step of the process, but nevertheless he turned to face the west and walked into the afterlife.

Only when she was certain he had gone did she breathe a sigh of relief and turn her thoughts back to joining her mate.

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed and played with the Shadow Ascendant stuff from the wiki, which apparently got it from the Horde RPG Player's Manual from 2003 because a) it's a really cool concept that's been swimming around in my subconscious for like six years and b) not everything should be about the playable classes.
> 
> * * *
> 
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates _positive_ feedback (please, no concrit!), including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Keysmashes, banshee wailing onomatopoeia, strings of emoji, and the like
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> This author replies to comments. Readers who would prefer not to receive a reply to comments, please state something like "no reply necessary" and I'll just stare with heart eyes at my inbox.


End file.
